He drank too much - What of it? The wind found our calloused heels, but we were too young & too open to care for blistered feet that healed naturally - And we were brown & bordering the sun of exploration He had the throat of a swan born to cradle the liquid fire of forgetfulness - even young there existed so many things to forget - When it wasnt silken, his throat was a pine cone of roughness with a laugh that deepened in secrets He stumbled often, called whoa now on steep patches, but walked on anyway Mostly I was a bird of admiration hiding my face in the outdoor scent of his steady heartbeat - And we were as floundering as beached fish on some days, unable to lift a toast high enough to dawn the shadows of a wolfish world I loved his determined uphill stagger His heart too heavy with hope Eyes he could never wash clear of pain And a light behind his back luminous with lightning strikes The sun painted him gold He said, Dont ever be too trusting of this petty, beautiful world - You know that, dont you? Dont you, Girl?
Posted on: Mon, 01 Dec 2014 09:20:19 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015